


blood brothers

by gayblockz (lizandre)



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Antarctic Empire, Antarctic Empire Backstory, Blood Pacts, Canon Divergent, Dadza, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Ghostbur, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Tags May Change, Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Teenager Technoblade as Ruler of the Antarctic Empire, Twins Technoblade and Wilbur, Unwanted Familial Love, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and Tommyinnit and Technoblade are practically siblings, except they aren't related hehehe, partially canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28573413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizandre/pseuds/gayblockz
Summary: Technoblade speaks the language of blood, and in blood there is nothing connecting him and his supposed siblings.Between Will and Tommy there’s a thread, a string of brotherhood, the same red flowing through their veins.But with Technoblade? There’s nothing.Techno can fix that, though.***Technoblade struggles with the concept of found and blood related family.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 51
Kudos: 379





	1. (finding) (losing) a twin.

**Author's Note:**

> *chanting* fd but orphanblade and it's found family fd but orphanblade and it's found family fd but orphanblade and-
> 
> first chapter is fully canon compliant.
> 
> also current dsmp arc is hurting me so this fic is probably gonna be somewhat self indulgent

When Phil first introduces Technoblade to his son, Techno is furious beyond belief.

He cannot fathom that the fierce ruler of the Antarctic Empire, the blood god, the merciless conqueror who shall not be messed with shares his exact age with some weak, peace loving teenager, who only knows how to wield a guitar and a quill.

At first, Techno demands Wilbur changes his birthday. It doesn’t work, and the guy doesn’t even flinch at any threat thrown his way. Phil also isn’t any help, he just stands back and doubles over laughing at Technoblade’s attempts to restore his dignity.

Eventually, Techno gives up. He just has to accept the fact that he is as much of a teenager as the naïve, unintimidating, smiling kid in front of him.

“I’m older by two minutes,” the warrior hisses, in a last ditch effort to hold onto his status and power, but it doesn’t come off as scary at all, instead causing Wilbur to grin even wider.

Techno insists it’s true, so it is.

For their birthdays, he blows out his candles two minutes before Will, and Will accepts his role as the younger kid, dragging Technoblade into his backyard to play pretend, with wooden swords and paper crowns.

Techno finds it silly.

He has a real sword, and a real crown, and all the geopolitical conflicts Wilbur likes to imagine and act out are a reality Techno has to face on the daily.

But he doesn’t say anything, he just goes along, letting the kid whisk him away to fantasy lands of war and peace, tyranny and rebellion, hope and destruction. The emperor isn’t good at pretend, but he tries, even if every once in a while Will breaks character to push him lightly and laugh at how bad he is.

Every once in a while, though, Technoblade says something with a strange spark in his eye, a spark which ignites Wilbur, making him stare with awe and grin with the manic smile of a creator.

In those moments something binds the two, the same glint of insanity, the same challenge to the universe itself, the same ambition. In those moments, the two of them are indistinguishable.

Two sides of the same coin.

One day, instead of taking Techno to the same imaginary country as usual, Wilbur takes him simply to their backyard.

“Our birthdays are on the same day,” the teenager breathes out, unable to contain his excitement.

“And I’m two minutes older,” the warrior reminds, huffing with faux pride.

The remark gets ignored, but Technoblade catches how the corners of Wilbur’s lips curl up slightly.

“You know what that means?”

Techno can think of many things that means. It means their birthdays start off at exactly midnight with both of them saying _Happy Birthday_ in unison. It means Phil throws them collective birthday parties, with double the cake and double the festivity. It means most people coming by to congratulate the ruler of the Antarctic Empire assume they’re _family_.

“No,” he responds.

“It means we could be _twins_ ,” Wilbur is about to jump out of his own skin in excitement.

“No,” Techno says, dumbly. “We aren’t even related.”

“Well, nobody _knows_ that,” there’s a glint of mischief in the amber eyes. “Except Phil, but we could get him to play along.”

“We don’t look anything alike,” the idea only sounded dumber the more thought he put into it.

“Sure we do!” Wilbur protests. “If I dye my hair pink and draw on some scars I could totally impersonate you!”

“Yeah, and then you’ll open your mouth and get found out immediately.”

They both laugh at the tease, Will punching him lightly. Techno pretends to reach for his sword, and Wilbur sticks his tongue out at him.

“What even is the point of pretending to be twins?”

“Dunno,” Wilbur shrugs. “It would be funny.”

“How would it be funny? There’s no punchline.”

“You just have a shit sense of humour.”

Techno is sure that his sense of humour is better than average, which is what he says, at which Wilbur doubles over laughing, and Techno proceeds to chase him around the yard.

They both end up rolling onto the grass, clutching together in a pretend fight, until eventually both collapsing onto the ground, breathing heavily.

“Most people already assume we’re related somehow,” Wilbur points out.

“And? They’re wrong.”

“But isn’t it funny watching their faces as they try to figure out how we’re related?” Wilbur turns over, looking at Technoblade. “They’re always so confused, and they try to find any similarities between us, you can see cogs turning when they look at us!”

“Yeah? And what are they thinking?” Techno grins.

“They’re probably trying to figure out whether you dye your hair pink or I dye my hair brown.”

They both let out a chuckle.

“I think another big question is why one of us looks like a regular human and the other one is me,” Techno points out, and Wilbur’s eyes light up.

“Do you think they assume I’m also not a human like you, they just can’t see it?”

“You think they assume you’re a shapeshifter?”

Wilbur gasps, and goes quiet for a second. There are galaxies in his eyes. Techno snickers.

“Techno! Techno! Techno!” he practically pounces, grabbing Technoblade, which is greeted with more laughter. “We definitely have to tell everyone we’re twins! Please! They’re gonna think I’m so cool!”

The garden fills with wheezes and pleas, but eventually, the emperor caves.

Technoblade and Wilbur are introduced as twins to any unfortunate soul that asks.

The joke continues. It continues even after Techno grows out his hair, after Wilbur becomes slightly taller than him, after Tommy, Wilbur’s real brother, comes along. The joke stops being funny, not because it loses its comedic value, but because they stop laughing at it. It turns into more of a tradition, the lines between pretend and reality blur, and Technoblade and Wilbur being twins becomes an unquestionable fact within the household.

Occasionally, there is an outsider who expresses skepticism or confusion in regards to said fact. When that happens, Phil shrugs, saying he has no idea what they’re talking about. Tommy insists that Wilbur being his brother, Technoblade being an unrelated bastard, and the two of them being twins are all facts that can and do co-exist. And Wilbur laughs, assuring that even if they don’t look alike, they’re twins, there’s no doubt about that.

Technoblade doesn’t answer.

He ignores the question, or grunts, and lets someone else do the talking.

No matter how much he plays along, he cannot shake off the fact that there’s nothing relating him to his “ _family_ ” other than shallow words.

Wilbur is going to depart. There’s nothing for him here anymore. He leaves behind the pretend wars, the imaginary countries and fantasy villains. He wants to make them a reality, instead.

He goes with Tommy, a fact at which Techno’s hear stings with jealousy. He pretends he doesn’t know why. It’s a waste of time to envy something he can’t have.

Technoblade speaks the language of blood, and in blood there is nothing connecting him and Wilbur.

Between him and Philza, there’s a bridge of crimson, of the guts and minds they spilled together on the battlefield, destroying enemy lines side by side.

Between Will and Tommy there’s a thread, a string of brotherhood, the same red flowing through their veins.

But Wilbur and Technoblade? There’s nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Techno can fix that, though.

“Wilbur!”

Technoblade catches his “twin” the day before he’s set to leave.

Both of them have grown from the day they decided to pretend to be related. They look far less alike now, more scars painting Techno’s face in stark contrast with Wilbur’s clean skin. Long, braided pink hair sits apart from the curly brown mop. Sharp, red eyes filled with battle stare into the soft, all-encompassing amber.

“Yeah?” Wilbur smiles, and Techno catches yet another difference – the straight, white teeth stand against the piglin-like tusks.

The great ruler braces himself for the childishness of the thing he’s about to ask.

“This is going to be stupid, but—”

A bright laugh interrupts him immediately, and Techno is yet again surprised how different this light, reassuring laughter is from his own, manic and cold.

“Come on, I’ve said and asked way more stupid things over the years,” Wilbur puts his hand on Technoblade’s shoulder. “Just say it.”

No matter how reassuring, it doesn’t fully take away the hesitation.

“Do you know anything about the blood oath ritual?”

It’s hard to say what widens more, Wilbur’s eyes or his smile.

“Don’t tell me this is about what I think it is about.”

Techno gives him a look, and he immediately knows he hit bull’s eye.

“Technoblade!” he explodes with glee, grabbing the fierce warrior in a fiercer hug, which could be easily mistaken for an attempt at suffocation.

“I haven’t even—” Techno tries to speak through the tight grip around him. “—finished.”

“Well, go on,” there’s notes of mischief, and— uh oh. Technoblade knows this voice. “I’m listening.”

“Well, you already understand what I’m saying,” the tone of the flustered mumbling sounded so unfitting coming out of the mouth of the leader of the Antarctic Empire. “Really, I don’t see the point in me repeating—”

“No, come on,” Wilbur continued teasing. “Come on, say it, you wanna be my…?”

“…blood brother.”

Wilbur erupts with excited giggles once again, finally letting go of Techno.

“Well…?” Technoblade looks up at Wilbur, expecting to see more mockery in his eyes, but instead being met with the handle of a knife held out to him. That’s certainly an answer.

Two quick slashes on two palms. Red eyes meet amber, just to confirm. A silent nod.

Two hands collide, and blood gushes into each other and blooms in a bush of crimson roses. The flowers grow instantaneously, reaching their peak, spilling out all the beauty and dying, the withered petals blowing into the boys’ faces.

Just like that, it’s over.

The only proof they have of it ever happening is the fossilized image of a blooming brotherhood, forever trapped in a pair of gleaming ambers.

Goodbyes are said without haste, but they aren’t prolonged either. There’s no sadness in anyone’s words, only hope, excitement and pride.

Phil asks to tell Tommy he said hi, and Wilbur laughs but promises to fulfill the request. Techno doesn’t ask anything of him, he just silently pressed his bandaged hand to his _brother’s_ chest, smiling. There’s a wordless exchange between the two of them, one that no one else understands, but doesn’t pry, either.

A final wave, and then Wilbur’s gone.

They won’t be hearing from _that_ Wilbur ever again.

They’re in trouble.

They’re in trouble and they’re running to the oldest sibling for help.

Before leaving, he feels a hand on his shoulder.

Phil looks at him with eyes that say a million things. He struggles to get his words out, and Techno can see he’s worried.

“Look after them,” he ends up whispering. There are a myriad of meanings to that sentence, and he means all of them. “Please.”

Technoblade nods.

And then he’s gone, too.

Off to save his younger brother.

It was off.

That’s the first thing he knew when he got there. It was off.

First off, Wilbur didn’t trust Techno.

“Nothing personal,” he said.

What was it then, if not personal?

What happened since the last time they’ve seen each other?

Who’s responsible for the shining suns of Wilbur’s eyes going dim?

Technoblade is farming potatoes in silence. He doesn’t know who he should direct his anger at. He doesn’t know whether he should be angry at all.

Did he even know Wilbur well enough to be upset?

Was Wilbur’s personality just naturally changing?

Was Techno being selfish right now?

He sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

Farm potatoes. Fall into a relaxing routine of tilling dirt, planting seeds, watering. That’s all he can do for now.

“You killed Tubbo!”

The yelling is loud. Techno winces. He doesn’t like verbal conflict.

He very much prefers to speak with his fists.

“It was because of peer pressure,” he insists, looking away.

He doesn’t even comprehend the screaming at this point. It all mixes together into a mush of word vomit, of accusations, of anger.

“I think this is great, actually!”

Wilbur’s voice cuts through the goo of noise.

“Technoblade betrayed us, and that’s _good_. He proved me right.”

Even though he’s being defended, it hurts. He doesn’t want to dwell on why.

“Nobody’s on our side, Tommy!”

Techno forces himself to stop thinking about the words Wilbur is saying.

“Look at how angry he is!”

Wilbur puts a hand on Technoblade’s shoulder, and it’s as cold as a corpse.

“Look at his angry eyes, Techno! He hates you!”

He doesn’t know why Wilbur is egging them on. He doesn’t know why Wilbur is so happy about his brothers fighting. He doesn’t want to think about why Wilbur thinks his brother betraying him is great.

“Come on, fight! Fight! Take your anger out! Work through it with violence!”

The taunting fills the room, and it can’t be helped.

Technoblade easily defeats Tommy in a fight.

The kid lays on the floor, heaving, staring at his opponent from underneath his dirty blond hair with unadulterated rage.

Something tells Techno he made one more enemy today.

He looks back at Wilbur, his tilted head, his wicked grin, his shining eyes – he’s practically unrecognizable, he stares at destruction with the same glee he used to have at the sight of creation.

Techno doesn’t know who’s face he’s looking at.

It’s all a blur.

That night he brews potions in his secret base.

He can’t believe he could be so foolish.

Of course it’s Wilbur and Tommy against everyone else.

It’s family against the rest of the world.

Why would Techno ever be included?

No blood oath could ever override _real_ family.

Their bond is locked inside the now blackened fossil, withering away slowly – it’s coming to an end.

It would be delusional to pretend it mattered in the first place.

“Hey, Techno.”

Wilbur doesn’t prepare for war like everybody else. His preparations consist of turning piles of sand and gunpowder into dynamite.

“Yes?” he doesn’t mean to come off as cold, but it seeps into his voice anyway.

“I’m the traitor.”

The words are said far too casually. Techno reacts to them far too casually, as well.

“Okay.”

“Dream and I made a deal. No matter what happens, the country gets blown to smithereens by the end. I feel like you might be interested in that.”

The twins grin, and once again they’re kids, playing out yet another war in their backyard.

“I do happen to have a few wither skulls and soul sand in my possession.”

Wilbur laughs, both from shock and thrill.

“I knew I could count on you,” he takes the other’s hand into his, strangely reminiscent of— “blood brother.”

It’s Techno’s turn to laugh now, and his face is the most genuine expression of joy he has ever shown to anyone.

They let themselves get lost in the moment, nostalgically recounting stories of their childhood, sheltering themselves from the world around them with laughter and soft whispers.

They eventually fall asleep leaning on each other, blissfully ignorant to what’s about to come.

Even the dark, bleak spots in Wilbur’s amber eyes go unnoticed and unaddressed.

Anarchy brothers. The fun nickname they gave to themselves.

Stage a rebellion together, defeat Schlatt together, and blow up Manburg together.

The thrill of dynamite, withers, and victorious yelling.

The twins finally feel in their element: chaos.

They, too, part ways, however.

Only one survives.

Only one feels the intoxicating power trip of threatening their foes with a blade.

The other feels that blade stuck between his ribs.

Right through the throbbing heart.

Technoblade pities those who had to mourn the loss of a twin.

He never has to, though.

He never had a twin, after all.


	2. a ghost and a boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technoblade grieves in strange ways.
> 
> The primary one being denial and bottling up his own emotions.
> 
> But nevertheless, there are certain two personas who won't let him do even that.
> 
> ***
> 
> Family refuses to leave Techno alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canon isn't serving me so i am going to serve myself
> 
> more sbi family interactions go brrrrrr

“Sorry I couldn’t look after them,” Techno says, as the two men walk the snowy fields.

Phil looks up with surprise, but then his gaze softens with a deep blue sorrow.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he smiles, weakly.

Technoblade doesn’t believe him.

They walk in silence for a few more minutes before Phil speaks up again.

“I won’t be able to stay with you for long. There are some things I still need to fix in L’Manburg. Some… people I need to look after.”

Techno nods.

“Wilbur left behind a lot of… bad blood. I need to tend to them. Help them heal. There’s a lot of people he hurt, you know?”

_Like me_ , Techno thinks, but he pushes away the venomous thought.

“He left his son behind, Fundy,” Phil continues, and his eyes ache in a strange way.

Technoblade doesn’t want to see that ache.

“Fundy’s an orphan now?” he opts for lightening the tone with a classic joke of his. “Well, he better watch out!”

He unsheathes his sword, dragging his finger on his neck in a line, with a menacing smile. It works, and the atmosphere fills with lighthearted laughter which Technoblade missed so much.

“Why do you even hate orphans so much?” Phil absentmindedly kicks some snow in his path.

_Because I am one_ , Techno wants to respond.

“Orphans killed my parents, Phil,” he says with a grin, and he’s met with snickering. “Now I have to exact my revenge.”

They both laugh together, and Techno tires his best to focus on the warmth of the conversation rather than the horrible tugging in his chest.

“Kids aren’t that bad, Techno,” Phil says, with a warm smile. “Maybe one day you’ll understand, when you find a family of your own.”

Technoblade swallows the lump in his throat.

“For what?” he says, with an unexpected bitterness. “Just to end up stabbing them to death at their own request?”

He comprehends his own words only after they leave his mouth.

Phil stares at him with wide eyes. There’s a shadow falling on half his face, and his eyes begin glistening with a layer of watery glass. He doesn’t dare move.

Techno looks away, and just walks past him.

A little cabin in the snow.

Closest civilization is a village miles away.

It’s tranquil.

Usually, Technoblade enjoys solitude.

Staying alone with his thoughts is the unpleasant part.

He tries to keep himself occupied to keep his mind silent, but there’s little to do when you’re retired.

He stares out the window, gazing upon the white darkness.

It’s lonely.

He’s returning from trading with some villagers.

He has a bag fool of emeralds, books and food. He quietly munches on a golden carrot.

He’s nearly at his house, when he notices something else.

A presence.

It’s half transparent, desaturated colours making it hard to spot, but he recognizes the unquestionable swoops of hair and a beanie pulled over them.

But it couldn’t be him.

He’s dead.

This is…?

“A ghost,” he whispers.

Technoblade almost jumps out of his boots, running the rest of the way to his home.

The ghost is smiling, petting Techno’s horse. He hums a melody, floating slightly above the ground, running his grey fingers through the black mane. The yellow of his sweater pops brightly against the cold surroundings, like a warm summer sun in the middle of winter.

He opens his eyes.

Grey.

Techno almost chokes, the air being blown out of his lungs along with the newly found hope he was too foolish to accept.

“Hello, Technoblade,” the voice has an echo to it, as if the place he’s talking from is distant, not here.

“Wilbur?” Techno pushes out, weakly.

“No, not Wilbur,” the ghost shakes his head. “Wilbur was alive. I’m Ghostbur!”

He smiles, but it only sends a shiver down Technoblade’s spine.

Techno’s facial expression doesn’t allude Ghostbur.

“People told me alive Will was a bad person,” he amends, nervously. “But I can assure you I’m not like him! I don’t even remember half the things he did.”

There’s still no response, the red eyes are just as wide as empty, slowly processing the words.

“I remember you, though,” the ghost scratches the unarmored side of the horse.

“You do?” Techno manages to choke out, still drilling into the grey irises with his gaze.

“Yes! I remember pretty much all of our childhoods, at least the important parts, that’s for sure!” Wilbur’s ghost almost sounds alive for a split second, but it’s probably a product of the imagination of a grieving mind. “You were the great ruler of the Antarctic Empire! With Phil. And we all lived there, and you would teach me and Tommy to spar, and we would suck, and you would make fun of us for it, but, you know, in the way where we were all in on the joke? It was funny.”

The echoey voice flies past Techno, flowing right by him, as he swims in a current of memories, all cutting through him like shards of broken glass.

“And we would always bully Tommy together, he’s a child, and he would always pout, and his face was hilarious!” Ghostbur giggles, but it’s ice. “You and I used to spend a lot of time together, Techno. We would always play pretend, and you were great at it, I think. We would always make up countries, and you would always go to war with them, or destroy them, and the game would end. But it was okay, because we would always just start again, and rebuild!”

The ghost’s smile slowly drops, and he steps away from the horse.

“And then… I remember leaving, I think. I left to make a country. For real this time,” he looks up to meet Technoblade’s eyes. “But you weren’t there anymore.”

That is true.

He wasn’t there.

And he isn’t sure if him being there would’ve changed anything.

“And that’s all the memories I have of you,” Ghostbur concludes, his cheerful tone back.

It catches Techno off guard. Something’s missing.

“And that’s it?” he asks, clutching his red cloak with one of his hands.

“Yep,” Ghostbur confirms. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing more? Nothing important?” Techno fists the cloth harder, almost feeling the cutting motion of a knife on his palm, the crimson spilling out.

“Well, I’m sure there’s plenty of important things I forgot about the second half of Wilbur’s life,” he admits, swaying his feet back and forth as he floats. “But from childhood, there’s nothing else I remember, I’m sure.”

That’s it. The last splinter, right through Technoblade’s heart.

He forgot.

He doesn’t remember.

The blood spilling from Techno’s body combines and bonds behind his back, covering him from the rest of the world, protecting him from everything crashing down on him. It keeps him warm.

“Do you mind if I stay for the night?” the ghost of a stranger inquires, looking out of the roofed stables. “I’m afraid I’ll melt in the snow, and I don’t really want to do that. I’ll leave when it stops snowing.”

The living man walks over and swings his cape onto Ghostbur’s shoulders.

“Leave now,” he speaks, coldly. “This will cover you. You don’t have to come back.”

Techno wants to talk to Phil. He looks at the man, standing across the room, helping him brew more potions. It’s a nice, quiet night. He hates to ruin it.

“I saw Wil— Ghostbur,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can.

He can hear Phil stop pouring liquids.

It resumes after a pause.

“Really?” the tone mirrors Technoblade’s.

The topic of Wilbur lays between them like a loaded gun, neither of them brave enough to pull the trigger.

“Yeah,” Techno relaxes the fists he didn’t know he was clenching. “I talked to him, too.”

“What did he say?”

The next words are chosen carefully.

“His memory is spotty.”

Phil stops in his tracks again. Techno can almost hear his thoughts.

“You could say that,” he finally pushes out.

The tension in the air could be cut with an enchanted diamond sword.

“He’s not the same,” Technoblade says, with more sincerity than he’d allow himself.

“You mean…?”

“His eyes, Phil,” Techno doesn’t hide the pain in his voice. “They’re grey.”

Technoblade knows Phil doesn’t understand what he means. Nobody would, nobody would store their testimony of ever having a family into a single boy’s amber eyes, nobody would just stand there and watch as it all fades away, until it withers up and dies, taking all the happy memories with it.

Nobody would have the guts to deny it afterwards.

He feels arms wrap around him, followed by two large wings, shielding him from everything crashing down on him. This time, it stays.

Techno loses himself in the embrace, closing his eyes.

He isn’t sad that Wilbur forgot.

It pains him that Techno, _he remembers._

He tries to forget, as well. It would be fitting for the two twins to collectively forget they were twins at all.

But it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter how fitting it is, because it doesn’t happen.

Techno doesn’t cry.

But he might as well.

When Technoblade receives a message from Phil, the words he reads are the last thing he expected.

_They’re coming. They know where you are._

Everything happens in a flash.

They show up at his house.

He’s winning – and suddenly he’s losing.

They’re taking his horse hostage.

They row him to L’Manburg.

His trial consists of sitting in a cage, waiting for his death.

The rest is a blur.

Anvil.

Then the deafening sounds of his spirit being dragged back into his body, thanks to a totem of undying.

Dream comes to his rescue.

Quackity.

A bloodied pickaxe, torn flesh still sticking to its edge, breaking through the stone to create a safer tunnel.

Then he runs.

He gets on horseback and runs, runs far away, back to his house, determined to make sure they’ll never come for him like this ever again.

His horse is gently trotting through the snow, and he spots his warm cabin in the cool distance, but then he sees something else.

A flash of bright blond in the dark, night winter.

_Phil?_

No, Phil’s under house arrest. Phil won’t come back to Techno for a long time.

He groans, putting two and two together. There’s only one other person who flaunts that obnoxious yellow that Techno knows of.

No amount of mental preparation could soothe the experience which Technoblade is about to have.

“Technoblade!” Tommy yells, kicking and swinging as he gets dragged into the house.

Techno unceremoniously throws him on the floor of the basement, pointing the pickaxe to his neck. The weapon still has blood splotches all over.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“Techno,” Tommy says, as if unphased by the situation. “You! Are a bitch!”

The boy looks like a strange combination of Phil and Wilbur: he has the heroic blond hair and blue eyes of his father, but the burning determination with which he stares reminds so painfully of Wilbur.

That’s only more reason for Techno to hate him.

He reminds of the people Technoblade can’t have beside him.

“Answer the question.”

“No,” Tommy sticks his nose up, proudly, and stands up, audaciously trying to walk past Techno.

He gets immediately yanked back by his shirt, ending up on the ground again, and on his way down several items fall from his pockets, scattering onto the floor.

Red eyes quickly examine them.

A ridiculous amount of ender pearls, a stack or so of golden apples, two strength potions, three of speed, a feather falling—

“Is that _my_ stuff?”

“Of course not,” the kid scowls, gathering the valuables. “How is it your stuff if _I_ have it?”

“ _Were you the one stealing my stuff?_ ”

“I prefer the term _borrowing_ ,” Tommy grins again, completely ignoring the anger in Techno’s tone.

“Well _I_ prefer the term _home invasion_ ,” Techno hisses. “ _Get. Out._ ”

“Technoblade.”

Tommy’s face goes into a weird pout, his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth frowns in an exaggerated manner, and—

Oh no.

Techno knows exactly what’s about to happen.

“Technoblade,” Tommy pulls out his best melodramatic voice, and it’s almost impressive. “Don’t you love me?”

“No.”

The answer is immediate and ice cold.

“Techno, what the fuck?” Tommy’s face drops instantly, his voice loses all sense of sadness, now replaced by annoyance. “We grew up together and you won’t even let me stay at your place for a bit while I’m in exile?”

“No,” Techno lifts Tommy to his feet and ushers him towards the door. “We aren’t even family. We’re not blood related.”

The boy yanks his arm out of Technoblade’s grip and grimaces. Slowly, he approaches the door, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“What would Wilbur say if he heard you just now?” he mutters under his breath, and time freezes.

That’s it.

That’s the line that breaks him.

In a flash, he grabs Tommy’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks, and says:

“Upstairs. Second room to the right. All yours.”

He’s bowing his head down, but he can practically sense Tommy lighting up with glee.

“Thanks, bro!” the kid yells as he runs past, climbing upstairs. “You’re the best.”

After hearing the click of a closing door, Techno sighs.

What did he just sign up for.

Tommy is annoying.

Not just because he’s loud, and obnoxious, and insists on sticking to Techno at all times, but also because he keeps doing little gestures, saying things, looking at him in ways that would only make sense if they were _family_.

“Technoblade,” he storms in, interrupting Techno’s peaceful reading. “I’m hungry.”

“Make yourself dinner, then.”

The sounds of a page turning do not drown out Tommy’s voice at all.

“You’re the eldest. You’re supposed to take care of me.”

Technoblade ignores the comment, his eyes still glued to the book.

Tommy sighs.

“Please,” his voice drops to a quiet, calm whisper. “At least teach me how to cook. So I won’t have to bother you later.”

Techno weighs out his options.

Give a man a fish, and you'll feed him for a day.

Teach a man to fish, and you've fed him for a lifetime.

He supposes dealing with Tommy every day was worse than doing this once and getting rid of him for a lifetime, so he stands up, puts his book down, and sighs.

“Come on. I’ll teach you how to make soup.”

The kid is surprisingly attentive in the kitchen.

He catches on quickly, even if he messes up a lot of logistical tasks, such as evenly cutting mushrooms. All the pieces are either too thin or too thick, but Techno says it’s alright for a first time.

They stir all the ingredients in a single pot, the rough hand guiding the smaller one. Tommy lets out an annoyed huff.

“I can do it myself! You don’t have to control my every move, I’m not your _little brother Tommy_ anymore, I’m a big man!”

Techno freezes, but the other is far too concentrated on the cooking to notice.

“Technoblade, you can be such a dickhead sometimes.”

_Little brother Tommy._

That’s ridiculous.

Twin Wilbur started out as a joke, and it was even funny in the beginning, but _little brother Tommy_? That just doesn’t make sense, doesn’t have a justification. They aren’t related by blood. They didn’t get together and agree on any prank. They don’t even _like_ each other. What in the world made them _brothers_ all of a sudden?

“You know I didn’t mean it, right?”

Tommy’s voice brings Techno back to reality.

“What I said about you being a dickhead,” he answers the silent question in the confused crimson eyes. “I was just joking around. You know, like it always happens between—”

He gets interrupted by the soup almost boiling over the edge of the pot.

He screams, and Technoblade immediately grabs the pot off the fire, trying to get it under control. Tommy’s screams in the background get swapped out with laughter, and Techno groans. Tommy really is one annoying child.

Techno watches Tommy eat his dinner.

The kid eagerly swallows his creation, not even using a spoon, overflowing with pride. Techno scoffs and shakes his head, at which Tommy sticks his tongue out.

_You know, like it always happens between…_

He didn’t need to finish the line, it was clear what he was going to say.

It was nonsense.

Technoblade is sure of it. Right now, watching Tommy, safe in his house, happy, all it makes him feel is a strange warmth inside his chest, and—

Techno shakes his head at the unusual thoughts.

There’s no way.

It’s just bullshit Tommy is saying to get away with stealing Techno’s stuff.

Total nonsense.

“Techno, do you know where Wilbur’s stuff is?”

Tommy brings up Wilbur so casually it’s jarring.

“What?”

“I wanna get his stuff, you know, from Pogtopia,” he explains. “I don’t want it to get lost, I mean, it’s history.”

Tommy’s voice wavers more than usual.

“I don’t know.”

Techno turns away again, pretending to be sorting through his chests.

“Dammit, I thought you told everything to each other, being twins and all.”

Technoblade freezes.

He inhales.

Exhales.

“We aren’t twins, Tommy.”

Tommy stares at him like he’s stupid.

“Yeah you are,” he says, as if it’s an obvious, objective reality. “And you’re two minutes older.”

Techno sighs with frustration.

“That was a lie, Tommy.”

“No it wasn’t,” he’s still insistent.

Techno snaps.

“Stop!” he turns around in less than a millisecond, his red cape swishing behind him. “Stop telling me that! We weren’t twins! It was a lie we made up! And everyone just played along!”

He takes a deep breath, looking straight into Tommy’s confused eyes.

“It is time to drop the act.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Sorry, Technoblade, but if it swims like a duck and quacks like a duck—”

“It also has to _look_ like a duck,” Techno points out, bitterly.

“Oh you looked like a duck alright,” Tommy smirks, and Technoblade doesn’t know whether he means what he says.

Something tells him this conversation isn’t something he’ll be able to brush off as easily.

Techno finds the ghost again.

He said he doesn’t have to come back, but he guesses the spirit took it as a suggestion. He should’ve known.

Ghostbur just finished talking to Tommy, and now he’s waving to the kid as he leaves somewhere. He is standing in the snow, in just a pair of jeans and a light sweater, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Even with the hole through his chest, he’s completely ignoring the weather. He’s always cold, so it doesn’t really matter, Techno supposes.

He turns his undead form towards the house and spots the warrior standing near the stairs.

“Techno!” the echoey voice calls out, as the ghost approaches.

There’s no response.

“Techno?” the voice grows more hesitant as it gets closer.

Still, there’s silence.

There’s a bubbling in his chest. He doesn’t want to speak to Wilbur’s ghost. Wilbur’s ghost has no right to speak to him. Not after all the pain Wilbur, both dead and alive, put him through.

“What’s wrong, Technoblade?” Ghostbur frowns, and Techno feels a sting of guilt. The ghost didn’t do anything. He has no right to be angry.

“You don’t remember,” he states, simply.

“I don’t remember what?” there’s distress in the distant, echoey voice. “I remember our birthday parties. I remember playing in the backyard together. I remember us saying goodbyes to each other before I left. What am I missing?”

Techno is silent.

“Please, Techno,” he sounds like he’s about to cry. “Please, tell me, what did I forget?”

Silence.

“Techno,” the voice trembles. He sounds like his ghostly presence is on the brink of dematerializing. “Please. What did I forget about my twin?”

Technoblade’s head snaps up. He watches the ghost, his melting face, his grey eyes pleading for an answer. Cogs turn in Techno’s head.

“Ghostbur,” he crosses the distance between them, taking the transparent hands into his own alive ones. “Tell me everything you remember about our relationship.”

“Well, we’re twins. And you’re two minutes older!” Ghostbur’s confusion quickly turns into childish excitement at the happy memories. “You used to be very insistent about that. We lived together in the Antarctic Empire, and you were in charge of it with Phil. And then I left. And we haven’t seen each other in a while. And then…”

His face turns thoughtful, as he tries remembering more.

“And then—”

He furrows his brows, struggling.

“Then—”

His expression stretches, pulls, he grits his teeth. It’s like it’s physically painful for him to try to remember.

“It’s okay,” Techno says, and notices that he held his breath the entire time.

“I’m sorry,” Ghostbur frowns, apologetically. “I’ll try remembering more, but I don’t think I can.”

“That’s fine. You remember plenty,” Techno stares through the ghost, lost in thought. “So, you remember me as your brother?”

“Yeah,” he nods, and then adds, confused: “Are we not?”

“And you remember me as just your brother?” Technoblade ignores the question. “No additional information?”

“As I said,” Ghostbur repeats. “We are twins. You’re two minutes older. That’s it. Am I wrong?”

He never gets a response, as Techno slowly turns and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep :D so basically family follows techno no matter where he goes. mans can't catch a break.
> 
> this one is slightly less painful, i'd hope.


	3. reconcile and conquer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, family hurts. 
> 
> Sometimes, you hurt family. 
> 
> Techno forgot what it's like for it to not hurt.
> 
> He's glad he's beginning to remember. 
> 
> ***
> 
> The more is left unsaid, the more is talked about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooooooo i may be irrelevant in regards to canon but i WILL write my family dynamic bc fuck canon familial feelings >>>>>>>>>> literally anything
> 
> brotherly bonding time >:D

Regaining a twin doesn’t feel like finding the missing piece of a greater whole.

It feels like getting your heart ripped out of your chest, and then, once the blood from your wound had dried up in a protective layer, getting it jammed back in, tearing the skin further. Except your heart isn’t the same anymore, it’s foreign and strange now, with bits of it chipped away until it’s unrecognizable, only a shell of what once was.

Ghostbur is the shell of Wilbur, getting inhabited by a completely different person.

It feels almost unfair to the spirit, comparing him, judging him, holding him responsible for things a completely different person did.

It’s terrible, being looked at and seen as someone else.

Technoblade knows that firsthand.

It’s setting him up for failure, singing him lullabies he doesn’t remember, shouting insults he doesn’t understand, asking questions he doesn’t have answers to.

Because, at the end of the day, they’re separate people, distinct individuals, and _I don’t know what his thought process was, I don’t know why he did the things he did, and I do not know why he wanted to die, **Phil.**_

Because, at the end of the day, it’s terrible.

Being looked at and seen as someone else.

Maybe that’s the reason they bond.

Maybe, that’s the reason Techno doesn’t mind it when he walks into his kitchen to see Ghostbur in search for wheat for his pet sheep.

Maybe, that’s the reason Techno doesn’t throw away the heaps of blue he gets from the ghost on a daily basis.

Maybe, that’s the reason when Techno falls asleep and hears Ghostbur hum a lullaby he doesn’t recognize, he doesn’t mind.

The foundation on which they get along is the fact that both of them are content with never bringing up the topic of alive Wilbur, preferring to discuss the turtles, or dogs, or the colour blue.

They share that in common with Tommy, all three of them sitting at the dinner table on snowy evenings, sipping hot chocolate, and discussing what each of them did in the day.

“I got more dogs,” Techno drinks slowly, so as to not burn his tongue.

“I built a tower,” Tommy proudly proclaims, at which both of his brothers grimace to different extents.

“I’m glad you’re practicing your building skills, Tommy,” Ghostbur tries to cover up his anguish with an attempt at praise.

“I’m taking that thing down,” Techno doesn’t mask his irritation, at which Tommy groans.

“Technoblade, you’re such a dick,” he mutters, but his words have no weight to them. They never do.

Techno hides his tiny smile by taking another sip of his drink, but he doesn’t fool anyone.

The room is filled with warmth, the type that can’t be replicated by a torch or campfire.

It’s a needed rest for all three of them, a rest from the seriousness of it all.

It’s a reminder that it can be family without having to hurt.

“Why do you need a lot of dogs, anyway?”

Tommy is playing with a puppy in the snow.

It’s the one puppy Techno decided to bring back, because the way it looked at him was just too precious to leave it in the damp sewers, and it wouldn’t take up too much space at home.

“Revenge,” he responds, nonchalantly.

Tommy stops in his tracks, and slowly turns around to look at Techno.

“For what?”

“For what L’Manburg did to me and Phil,” Techno walks over, taking the puppy into his hands and holding it up with a wicked grin. “They’ll pay greatly, Tommy.”

Tommy gulps, nervously, and tries to laugh it off.

“Yeah… L’Manburg.”

The boy seems conflicted. He looks away, turning his attention to the forest in the distance. Techno feels the tiniest bit of sympathy tug at his heart, but he ignores it. He tries his best to ignore it.

“It’s okay, Tommy,” he doesn’t know why he says what he says. He’s bad at comforting. He should just keep his mouth shut. “It’s nothing but justice, really, it’s for all the things they did to us, — to you, too! Didn’t they exile—”

Tommy interrupts Techno by inhaling sharply and grabbing his cape, digging his fingers into the arm underneath it. Techno opens him mouth to apologize for bringing up a sensitive subject, but Tommy doesn’t let him.

“Technoblade…” he whimpers, his eyes glued to the woods in the distance. Technoblade follows his gaze and—

Dream.

Dream is standing in the middle of the spruce forest, examining a recently chopped down tree. By some sort of miracle, he hasn’t noticed the two boys standing in the snow and playing with the dog. He’s too far away to hear either of them.

Techno looks back to Tommy, and all he can see is the shaking, the terrified stare, the uneven breathing.

That’s enough for him to act.

He grabs the kid, and rushes him into the house.

There’s a wooden box upstairs. Techno started building it for his dog, but it’s large enough for a young boy to fit.

He tosses a couple invisibility potions to Tommy and points at the box.

“Hide.”

The command is firm, but has no sharpness behind it. Tommy detects that, and obeys.

Before closing the lid, Techno whispers softly:

“Don’t get out until I come and get you, okay? I’ll make sure he leaves.”

He can hear a gulp and a muttered word of agreement. He closes the lid and goes outside.

“Didn’t know you had a dog, Techno.”

Dream pets the puppy, and for once his smiling mask looks like it’s honest.

“Why would you?”

If the conversation was happening between anybody but Technoblade and Dream, it would be hostile. Passive aggressive. Tight.

But the two men have a strange relationship – being the two at the top meant the tension between them got so heated it evaporated, both of them at a stalemate with each other.

The knives behind their backs are so obvious and inevitable that getting stressed over them is pointless.

“I came here because I have something to talk to you about.”

Dream stands up, straightening his back.

“Tommy’s dead.”

Technoblade’s face does not move a muscle.

“Had it coming.”

The green hooded man laughs at Techno’s remark.

“Well, my theory is, he’s not, actually,” he cocks his head. “You wouldn’t have seen him round these parts, right, Technoblade?”

Techno clicks his tongue.

“No. Why would I?”

“Well, he did live close to here. Since he ran off, he might’ve ran off here, to _you_.”

“Weren’t _you_ supposed to be looking over him in exile?”

That seems to strike a nerve.

“Well, Techno,” Dream’s overly cheerful voice is sharp. “I did offer you to join me—”

“And I didn’t want to.”

“—in teasing your little brother.”

Techno snorts.

“We aren’t related.”

Dream stops. It takes a while to process, but something seems to click in his brain.

“That may be true,” he puts his hand on his rival’s shoulder. “I guess Wilbur was always the one with the stronger bond.”

Technoblade ignores the tight feeling in his chest.

“But, you could’ve had that, too,” Dream’s face is inches to Techno’s right. He doesn’t appreciate the invasion of personal space. Uneasiness fills his entire body. “Had the same _brotherly banter_ as them. The same… _dynamic_. _Do the same things Wilbur did to Tommy_. But, you know, _more_.”

Red eyes widen.

“Oh well. _I_ had to do that instead.”

His blood runs cold.

Dream walks towards Techno’s cabin, leaving a path of dread behind him.

“You never showed me your little house over here,” Techno can hear the sick smile in his voice.

“I guess.”

Techno walks first, ignoring the heaviness in his feet.

Dream inspects the house. Looks closely at the chests, wanders into every room, asks about every detail of the architecture. He doesn’t touch anything, but his actions are invasive enough to annoy the owner of the home.

Techno doesn’t react, though. Even when Dream makes a joke about Technoblade always hiding important things, he doesn’t even spare a glance towards the box.

His answers are dry, he doesn’t hold up conversation. His body language is reserved, concealed under the red fabric of his cape.

“Someone lives here,” Dream comments, upon entering the room which is currently Tommy’s. “You have a roommate?”

“Ghostbur shows up sometimes,” Techno tells a half lie.

“Oh, you give your dead twin a room to stay? How considerate,” he notices the messy sheets. “Ghosts sleep?”

“I don’t know. I tend to not intrude on people’s personal spaces.”

Dream ignores the pungent comment.

“Must be hard, dealing with a ghost of your dead brother,” he lets out a phony sigh. “A trace of what you once knew…”

“Stop taunting me, Dream,” Techno hisses. “If you’re done _searching_ through my home you can _leave_.”

Dream isn’t taken aback by the sudden aggression, chuckling instead.

“Woah, woah, Technoblade,” his shit-eating grin is almost visible through the mask. “I won’t talk about your personal life anymore, noted. Good thing the things I want _aren’t your family_.”

The visitor is escorted through the front door. Before going, Dream stops, and turns to Techno one last time.

“By the way, you still owe me a favour. For helping you escape death, among other things. Don’t forget that.”

With that he walks off, deliberately slowly, without using ender pearls. The bastard knows what he’s doing.

Technoblade watches as the toxic green disappears behind the horizon. He waits a few seconds to make sure it’s not coming back. Once those seconds pass, however, he quickly walks back into the house.

He approaches the box softly, hesitating before speaking.

“He’s gone, Tommy. You can come out.”

The whimper that he gets as a response breaks his heart.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Techno does his best to keep his voice from wavering. “I watched as he left. He’s gone.”

An invisible hand slowly pushes the top of the box up, and the wood shakes, as if the fingers holding it up are trembling.

A few seconds pass, oppressive silence complimented by heavy breathing.

Techno doesn’t know who’s, his or Tommy’s.

The lid of the box gets pushed a bit more up and a boy pops into existence.

A boy whose eyes are red and whose fingernails look like they’ve been through war – a trembling, crying, meek boy, and it’s unclear whether this boy materialized in the past half hour or if he’s always been hiding inside of Tommy, and Technoblade just didn’t look close enough to notice. He doesn’t know which possibility leaves brings more unease.

“You talked,” the kid states, blankly.

“Yes,” Techno admits. “We did.”

“What did he say about me?”

Technoblade considers. What Dream actually said wasn’t that important – it’s the implications that laced his words like arsenic.

“He’s searching for you.”

The boy turns transparent for just enough time for Techno to see his heart drop.

Tommy collapses in on himself. He falls back into the box, and the lid would loudly shut on him, but Techno catches it in time.

The kid’s breathing starts racing, he’s fisting his shirt, he’s looking into the distance of the wall right in front of his face.

Techno’s body acts on its own. He gently wraps his arms around Tommy, encompassing him into the red cloak. They stumble back, sitting down onto the wooden floor.

“It’s okay. He’s gone,” Technoblade whispers, mindlessly. He feels the pale fingers dig into his dress shirt, tears and snot smearing it. He doesn’t care. The only image in his mind is the petrified blue eyes, colour draining out of them.

It gives him déjà vu. That feeling terrifies him.

He looks down at the kid in his arms. The air around him almost looks desaturated.

It’s a familial thing, he guesses.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Technoblade looks at his little brother sitting on the unmade bed. He’s better now, calmer. He fidgets with the white sheets in his hands.

He responds with a nod. Techno doesn’t try to make him speak.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Tommy’s eyes widen and he lets out a whine. He frantically shakes his head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Four nods.

Techno sighs and walks over to the kid. He gently pushes the blond fringe to the side. The eyes are regaining their colour. That warrants a small smile.

Tommy hesitantly reaches out his hand and grabs his brother’s fingers. He tugs, urging the elder to sit down. Techno obliges.

They accept the silence they sit in for a few seconds. Tommy stares at the wooden planks on the floor. Techno stares at Tommy.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he dares an attempt at conversation.

“No,” the kid’s voice is raspy, but certain.

“Alright.”

They don’t know how long they sit for. They only know that it ends when Tommy stands up and ushers Technoblade out of his room, closing the door. Techno doesn’t resist.

He gapes at the shut door for a minute or two.

He’s way beyond resisting.

The next morning, Techno eats alone.

Tommy didn’t leave his room since last night.

Ghostbur didn’t show up at the cabin for the past three days.

It’s not an uncommon occurrence for the spirit to come and go as he pleases.

It doesn’t make the cabin less lonely, though.

Techno throws his dishes in the sink. They crack from the force. He doesn’t do anything about it.

He sighs, and walks outside, setting out onto the path to the nether portal.

He guesses more netherite wouldn’t hurt.

There’s nobody in his house who’s happy to see him.

He might as well go to hell.

Ghostbur never tells anyone where he’s going.

Nevertheless, when he leaves, Techno doesn’t worry.

He always seems to come back to haunt his twin.

When Ghostbur visits, he usually comes around at night, akin to the moon.

He enters the house inaudibly, intangible hands beckoning Techno away from his work and to his bed. He’s met with mumbling protest, but he whispers back stories of tomorrow.

Stories of the chilly morning, of hot breakfast, of waking up and rolling over in the soft sheets.

His whispers only cease when red irises hide under eyelids, and pink locks get buried in the pale pillow.

Ghostbur’s light, akin to the moon, is soft and cold. It looks over the dreams of those he loves while they sleep.

And, akin to the moon, Ghostbur’s presence is met with the yearning for sunlight.

Akin to the moon, Ghostbur serves as a mere reminder of the lack of the brightest star.

He does his best to shine, but that does not take away the simple fact that he is just a moon.

But Techno likes moons.

So does Tommy.

They let the moonlight encase them, soothing their sunburnt skin.

It’s no use crying about the loss of a sun to the moon.

Sometimes, they feel like there’s no use crying about the loss of a sun at all.

Sometimes, it’s easier to stay silent.

Ghostbur and Technoblade stand on the terrace. Ghostbur informed that Tommy left somewhere, way before sunrise. The spirit asked him where he was going, and he just assured that he’ll come back. Ghostbur said he only realized Tommy never answered his question well after the blonde mop disappeared in the spruce trees.

“He’ll be fine,” Techno says, staring into his morning tea. It’s one of those days where he’s saying things he doesn’t believe, he supposes.

“I know,” Ghostbur chirps. “He’s always fine. Even if every Thursday he’s staring into death’s eye, he still comes out alive at the end of the week.”

“Why Thursday?”

“It’s a saying.”

Technoblade has never heard of such a saying before, but he doesn’t comment.

Most times, holding your tongue isn’t that bad. Especially with ghosts. Helps avoid heavy conversations.

“I miss Phil.”

Like this one.

“Yeah,” Techno nods. “I miss him too.”

“He doesn’t feel like a father anymore.”

Technoblade forcefully swallows his gulp of tea to avoid choking on the realization that they’re speaking about very different things.

“He’s so absent.”

_He’s on house arrest._

Techno wants to defend.

_He’s on house arrest under **the government you made.**_

Techno wants to hiss.

_You were the ones that **left** him._

Techno wants to snarl.

**_You were the ones that left us._ **

Techno wants to shout.

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” he responds, quietly.

“You’re probably right,” Ghostbur sighs. “If we just talk to him, it’ll be alright.”

Technoblade doesn’t ask who’s included in _we_. He’s used to assuming he’s not. Phil isn’t his father. He has no right feeling hurt. It’s silly being hurt on his _friend’s_ behalf.

Seeing a familiar boy trip over his shoelaces and fall face first into the snow, yelling out curses, is a nice distraction from Techno’s thoughts.

Ghostbur yells Tommy’s name, waving enthusiastically. Tommy grunts, annoyed, and sprints the rest of the way to the house.

“Where were you?” Techno hums, sipping his cup of tea.

“Pogtopia,” Tommy huffs out, leaping up the flight of stairs.

He’s holding something. It’s wrapped in brown cloth, like a sac. Tommy is pressing it close to his chest, as if it’s the most important thing in his entire life.

“Why?”

The question is collective. Ghostbur’s genuine curiosity mixes with Techno’s thoughtful confusion.

“None of your business,” Tommy pulls out his tongue at them and runs off, his laughter trailing after him.

Techno doesn’t know what the strange warmth he’s feeling is. All he knows is it hurts him.

“I’m gonna go check up on my turtles,” he chugs the rest of his tea and walks off, leaving the ghost to stare at the scenery alone.

For a second, there’s an urge to assure him Techno will come back.

He doesn’t act on it.

Techno enters the house, brushing snow off his shoulders.

There’s no trace of Ghostbur.

There’s a peculiar lack of something else, too.

“Tommy!” Techno calls out. It’s eerily quiet.

For a second he’s worried.

_What if something happened to Tommy?_

He pushes that thought down. Why should he care?

He ascends up the flight of stairs, listening closely.

Why can’t he hear the loud, annoying voice, yelling out curses and laughing?

He approaches Tommy’s door, considers knocking.

He does.

When there’s no response, he opens the door.

Tommy is sitting on the floor of his room. His eyes look red and puffy.

In front of him, there’s Wilbur’s brown Pogtopia coat, neatly folded. A notepad, which says “songs” in Wilbur’s messy handwriting on the front. A battered beanie, with ash and soot sticking to it, as if it’s been through multiple explosions.

Several photos also lay on the floorboards. One of Wilbur and Tommy in their revolutionary uniforms. Tommy seems to be the one who took the picture, because of the weird angle, showing Wilbur almost fully, but only half of Tommy’s face. It looks like it was the most treasured, as it has the least damage, the colours desaturated only slightly, as a sign of age.

Another picture is one of them all as kids. Techno remembers when it was taken. Phil told them to just act natural, and not mind him taking photos. So, Wilbur and Techno flocked to Tommy, and started poking at him, just to see that angry expression of his. Minutes after the picture was taken, the twins picked up their younger brother and almost threw him in the nearest puddle, at which point Phil intervened.

The other picture is the three of them again, but it’s from here. The backdrop is the stone ravine, and Techno, Wilbur and Tommy are all standing next to each other, looking at the camera. It pains Techno to see Wilbur’s eyes already lost their original colour at the time of this photo. The condition of this one is the worst by far, it was clearly torn apart at some point, and is now being held together by tape.

All the items are surrounded by candles, adding to the serene, yet gloomy atmosphere.

Techno looks to Tommy, then back to the things on the floor.

It clicks.

He’s mourning.

It doesn’t even register how Technoblade’s legs take him crashing to the floor next to his younger brother, staring at the things leftover from his twin.

Silence falls onto them. They don’t resist it.

The only movement in the room is the flickering of fire and the tears streaming down both their faces.

They should speak to each other. They know they should. But they don’t dare.

They were the ones to directly witness his downfall every step of the way.

They were the ones who grew up with him.

They were his brothers.

If anyone is to understand their pain, it’s each other.

But they don’t speak. Neither says a word, as they silently grief.

Tommy shuffles closer to Techno. Techno puts an arm around him. Both their bodies are still tense at each other’s touch, but they’re trying.

The broken family weeps for their lost sun.

Ghostbur likes accompanying Techno when he trains.

Techno hates it when Ghostbur accompanies him when he trains.

The spirit always jumps in front of arrows, swords and axes, laughing when his ghostly form is split by the sharp strike only to reform a second later.

He finds the limits of his own invincibility fascinating, even if he doesn’t have much to say about it beyond jumping under people’s weapons.

Techno hates it. It reminds him of how careless his twin was in life. The countless pieces of armour he never wore, the chests of golden apples he never accepted, the blades he didn’t bother to dodge.

“Being dead is kind of fun,” Ghostbur remarks, poking himself in the chin with an arrow. “Do you think tipped arrows would work on me?”

He reaches for the arrow with a sick green on the tip, but Techno lightly slaps his hand away before he can reach it.

“Let’s not try possibly poisoning you.”

The ghost laughs, obeying and floating away from the dangerous equipment.

“I mean, even if it did poison me, what would it do?” he cheekily smiles, and turns to looks at the several swords laid out in the thick snow. “Kill me?”

Techno rolls his eyes, even if he can’t stop himself from smiling. Ghostbur continues.

“What would I be, double dead? Gghostbur? That’s ridiculous!”

He laughs, as if to himself.

“That’s what I like about being already dead, Techno. Death doesn’t really threaten me, does it?”

“Is there anything you _dislike_ about being dead?” Techno snorts, not really thinking about his words.

“I can’t make amends.”

The smile dissolves.

The sounds of the wind suddenly become way more isolating.

Techno looks at the ghost, and the grey eyes are somehow softer, more serious, as if the cheerful Ghostbur was an act that just got dropped.

“I can see people around me hurting, hurting because of the things alive me did. But I can’t apologize. Because I don’t remember what I did.”

Ghostbur turns to Techno with a sad smile.

“You’re lucky. You can say sorry to the people you hurt. I can’t.”

The sigh that flows out of the semi-transparent mouth is filled with water and blue flowers.

“How can you ask for forgiveness for something you don’t even have memories of?”

Technoblade doesn’t respond. He turns around, and walks away with a purpose. Ghostbur sends him off with a silent, immovable smile.

Techno finds Tommy in his room. He’s sitting on the white sheets of his bed, his eyes focused on the brown fabric in his lap. He has a needle in his hands, trailing the thread behind his hands with more effort than it deserves.

Techno lightly knocks on the wood of the doorframe.

Tommy almost jumps out of his concentrated trance, quickly scrambling to his feet, trying to hide what he’s been working on.

Techno doesn’t pry.

“We need to talk.”

Tommy’s eyes turn into suspecting slits.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

His voice wavers.

“I know you didn’t.”

Technoblade approaches slowly, carefully, as if he’s trying to help a wild animal that’s been caught in a manmade trap.

“Then what do you want to talk about?”

Techno sighs, examining his younger brother’s perplexed facial expression. He slowly sits down on the bed. Tommy doesn’t flinch away, but instead settles next to his brother, his posture relaxed.

The silence hanging in the air has a peculiar nature, it’s not awkward but not exactly comfortable, either. It’s as if two doors are standing ajar opposite of each other, each person staying on their doorstep, unsure of whether to go in.

“Wilbur was fucked up.”

Tommy stares at Technoblade with shock. It wasn’t like him to swear, and it wasn’t like him to so directly talk about his twin.

“But I was fucked up, too,” Techno continues, without waiting for an answer. “And you were fucked up, to an extent. I guess it runs in the family.”

He scoffs, bitterly.

“With how fucked the two of us are, it was inevitable it’d rub off on you. Sorry for that.”

Tommy fidgets for a few seconds before speaking up.

“You— Wilbur—”

Tears appear in the corners of his eyes.

“You were supposed to protect me,” his voice cracks. “But you didn’t. Wilbur— he _hurt_ me. And you— you didn’t say anything—”

“I’m sorry,” Techno speaks with a genuine strain.

“You killed my best friend,” Tommy’s voice is small, almost inaudible.

“You treated me as a weapon, Tommy,” Techno doesn’t even notice the liquid stringing down his cheek.

“I admired you! You’re the best fighter, you’re an invincible—”

“But I’m not, Tommy,” he grabs his little brother’s hands. “I’m not an invincible warrior. I’m not immortal. I’m a _person_. I’m your _brother, Tommy_.”

The dam breaks.

The two siblings collide in an embrace, each mumbling their apologies and confessing their sins.

“I’m sorry for not being there.”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

“I’m sorry for not understanding.”

_“I’m sorry for being a shit **brother**.”_

Once all their guts are spilled, they continue talking. They talk about every nothing they can find, talk about their childhoods and talk about the things that forced them to grow up.

Tommy doesn’t talk about Dream. Techno doesn’t ask.

He’s sure it’ll be said when it’s ready to come out.

For now, reconciliation is all they can.

So they do.

The next morning, the two brothers eat breakfast together.

They stuff eggs into their mouths in silence. The only sounds either of them make is Tommy shuffling in his chair. He glances up at Techno occasionally, and then hurriedly returns his stare back to his food.

Techno doesn’t comment on it. He lets Tommy build up the courage on his own.

Tommy coughs to get his brother’s attention.

“Technoblade?”

“Yes?”

“I— I have something to give you.”

Techno looks up, and Tommy quickly shuffles to his feet, running into the living room to the nearest enderchest. He digs in it for a good minute, throwing a bunch of his junk on the floor around him.

When he returns, he gingerly holds a burgundy disk in his hands.

Pigstep.

Taken aback, Techno reaches out slowly. He takes the disc, examines it, and looks up at Tommy.

“Why me?”

“You’re all I have left.”

The answer is so simple yet so genuine, it leaves Technoblade speechless.

They aren’t that different, him and Tommy, he supposes.

The room falls into silence, and he only smiles, to let Tommy know it’s not hostile.

Tommy returns the gesture.

Dream sits on the branch of a pine, staring at the huge cobblestone tower.

It sits next to Technoblade’s cabin like an invasive species in a habitat it doesn’t belong to.

Well, it’s what Dream assumed it would look like.

Now that he’s actually seeing it, it looks weirdly fitting. Like it was meant to be there from the very start.

The man scoffs.

It’s so sickeningly obvious Tommy is here, and what’s even more disgusting is Technoblade’s blatant lies.

Dream doesn’t plan on acting just yet, though.

He’s content with being a passive observer, for now, letting the little _family_ hand him more ammo until time comes for Dream to crush them.

It’s only a matter of time.

And Dream has all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooooo hope you enjoyed the chapter >:)
> 
> school is a bitch so i may be slower w updates but thank you to all who stick around for my fics and thanks to everyone who reads em !!!! much love <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> please leave kudos if you enjoyed, and comments are rlly motivating, don't feel pressured tho <3


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